


Defying Expectations

by tangowhiskey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Porn, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Human Stiles, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangowhiskey/pseuds/tangowhiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is broke (like, broke broke). He’s got mounting bills, rent to pay, university fees and on top of all that, he’s pregnant. Far from having a supportive and loving boyfriend, his baby’s father hightails it out of town, leaving Stiles alone.</p><p>Alone and need of money, Stiles is introduced to the adult entertainment industry, where he meets - and works with - one Derek Hale, alpha werewolf and model and porn actor. </p><p>Stiles feels this inexplicable pull towards Derek, and fantasises about having him as his baby’s daddy. The only problem is that werewolves are territorial and Stiles knows that Derek won’t accept him because he’s carrying another man’s child.</p><p>Stiles finds, though, that Derek isn’t a traditional alpha. Maybe - just maybe - Derek might defy Stiles’ expectations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defying Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TNWKink Meme, prompt is [here](http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/4905.html?thread=773673)
> 
> This was supposed to be pretty short (but quickly turned into 10k+) I kind of got invested in the backstory and felt that it needed to be explored in more detail, hence all of the conversations Stiles has (sorry!).
> 
> The overall rating reflects the next two chapters and the tags will also be updated accordingly when the chapters are posted, which will hopefully be pretty soon.

“Please don’t be pregnant, _please_ don’t be pregnant,” Stiles whispers as he waits for the pregnancy test to decide his fate.

And, because this is Stiles Stilinski’s life, the test, of course, comes back as positive.

“Shit!” he whispers.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves children. Ever since he’d found out at 16 that he’s a carrier, he’d developed somewhat of a maternal side. Hell, he’d spent some of his years in high school babysitting in an feeble attempt to save up for university. He had even come round to the idea of having children later in his life. Much, much later. Not now. Certainly not now. Now, he’s only 22 and he’s in up to eyeballs in student debt, there’s no way he’d be able to raise a baby on his own. And yes, he knows he will have to raise the baby on his own because his boyfriend, one Deputy Greg Parrish, certainly won’t stick around.

No, far from being a supportive partner, Greg will flip out. He’ll go nuts and he’ll leave Stiles to look after the baby on his own. Stiles will, of course, fail miserably and Child Protection will be called in; he’ll be left ashamed as his baby is taken from him, and he’ll never get over the pain. It will eat away at him for the rest of his life, and he’ll never be able to have a relationship with anyone. Then, in twenty or thirty years, when he’s bitter and alone, his child will track him down and will demand to know how Stiles could have let that happen, and Stiles would try to explain, but his child won’t listen, and will leave him, and then Stiles will be left on his own and will have to re-live his pain all over again. If he miraculously manages to survive all of this, he might just write a script and send it to Lifetime.

And then there’s the one person that he’s most afraid of embarrassing: his father. His dad will kill him, will shout and rage at him. He will ask him how he could have been so irresponsible. And Stiles won’t have an answer, because it’s true. How _could_ he have been so irresponsible?

****

It’s no surprise, then, that Stiles chooses to tell his roommates-slash-best friends first. He has them all gathered in the living room, looking confused and scared because Stiles had never summoned them all together before.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Stiles begins, “So, I’m just gonna come out and say it. I’m pregnant.”

That’s met with a stunned silence, whilst Scott, Allison, Isaac and Kira looked at each other and then back to Stiles.

“What do you mean ‘You’re pregnant’?” That had been Isaac.

Kira hits him on the arm, gives him a look that says, _Seriously?_ , and Isaac frowns and then falls silent.

If he’s honest, he’d been expecting a bit more of a reaction, maybe a little bit of drama, but no, his friends wouldn’t even grant him that.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Stiles then asks in dismay, the implications of being pregnant just hitting home to him.

“No,” Allison says warily, well aware of Stiles’ mind having an inane ability to wander way off tangent, “What?”

“I’m a Teen Mom,” Stiles says hysterically, flapping his arms. “Oh my God, I’m a Teen Mom. Oh, crap, I’m gonna be on MTV!”

“Stiles,” says Scott patiently, “You’re not a teen mom.”

“No, I am. I am!” Stiles says exasperatedly, “I’m a Teen Mom... Except I’m in my twenties... And I’m not a woman... Whatever, the point stands. I’m a Teen Mom. How is this my life?”

“Stiles,” Allison says soothingly, “Scott’s right. You’re not a Teen Mom and you’re not going to be on MTV.”

“Hey! I could be on MTV,” Stiles says slightly insulted.

“You know what I mean, Stiles,” Allison says, rolling her eyes.

“We’ll support you,” Kira says, “Whatever you decide to do. We’re all here for you, and we all love you.”

Okay, so maybe Stiles has the best friends a pregnant 22-year-old guy could hope for.

****

Unfortunately for Stiles, the same talk with his boyfriend doesn’t go as smoothly. He had arranged for his friends to clear out of the apartment for the night to give Stiles enough time to talk to Greg in peace.

Stiles makes dinner for the both of them and pours Greg a glass of wine, but not one for himself. He subconsciously hopes that Greg will read the sign for what it is. He doesn’t.

Stiles takes a seat opposite his boyfriend and wastes no time in telling him. If Greg’s going to flip out and leave him, he may as well get it over with.

“Greg,” Stiles says, “I’ve something to tell you.”

“Me too, baby,” Greg says with a smile. “But you go first.”

“Okay,” Stiles says and takes a steadying breath. “Just promise me that you won’t freak out.”

Greg frowns, and says slowly, “Alright.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Greg drops his fork and it clatters loudly onto the plate. “You’re what?”

“I’m pregnant,” Stiles says with a nervous smile, “I’m knocked up. I’ve got a bun in the oven. I’m in the family way.”

Greg stares at him incredulously for a moment. Then he starts to chuckle, thinking it’s a joke. “No, you’re not.”

Stiles frowns, and then says firmly, “Yes. I am.”

Greg stops chuckling and clears his throat. “Whose... uh, whose is it?”

And that’s like a slap in the face for Stiles. “What? It’s yours. Obviously.” 

“It can’t be,” Greg says, with a curl of his lip. “We’ve always been careful. Who have you been fucking behind my back?”

 _Way to focus on the issue at hand, Greg_ , Stiles would later think. Right now though, he’s busy being insulted at being called a two-timer.

“You bastard!” Stiles says, seething, “You think I’ve been cheating on you?”

“It’s not mine,” Greg says, shaking his head in disbelief, “It can’t be.”

“Well, it is,” Stiles snarks back, “You’re gonna be a daddy.” He sarcastically adds, “Congratulations.”

“You’re keeping it, then?” Greg asks.

Stiles snorts in disbelief. “Yes, Greg. I’m keeping it.”

“Well, good luck with it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to raise it with you,” Greg scoffs. “I have ambitions, Stiles. You think I wanna be the campus police officer for the rest of my life? Well, I don’t. That was what I was going to tell you before you dropped that little bombshell of yours. I’ve been given a promotion. And I’m being transferred up the coast.”

Stiles is pretty sure that his face is the definition of stunned at Greg’s news. When he speaks, his voice is shaky, but he refuses to be cowed by Greg’s harsh words. “Well, what about me? What about our baby?”

“That’s not my problem, Stiles,” Greg says, as he takes a casual drink of wine, “Oh, and it’s _your_ baby, not mine.”

Stiles has a choice selection of curses to throw at Greg after that, and a plate or two might get smashed against the wall behind Greg’s head.

****

The next day, after he’s calmed down considerably, Stiles makes the decision to tell his father. His dad’s going to be so disappointed in him that Stiles finds himself flinching as he runs through the conversation in his head. His dad had raised him single-handedly and taught him everything he knows, so his father’s opinion means absolutely everything. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if his dad rejects him like Greg did; in fact, in many ways, it’ll be even worse.

In his room that night, he skypes his father - just one of the very few things that Stiles can proudly say _he_ taught his dad.

He sits patiently at his desk, waiting for the the video link to jump alive. When it eventually does, he can feel the tears welling, but he just about manage to hold them back.

“Hey, buddy,” his dad says. His voice is tinny over the computer, but Stiles couldn’t care less. “What’s up?”

“Hey, dad,” Stiles takes a deep breath and steadies his nerves. “Dad, there’s something I need to tell you, and you’re going to hate me for it, but it’s done now.”

His father straightens himself up and leans nearer to the webcam, almost conspiratorially. He worriedly asks, “Stiles, what’s wrong? Are you in trouble? Have you killed someone? If you have, I can be down there in a couple of hours and I’ll help you bury the body.”

Stiles can’t help it. He bursts out laughing. When he manages to get himself back in control, he says, “No, dad. I haven’t killed anyone.”

His father lets out a breath. “Don’t do that to me, kiddo. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” When Stiles doesn’t speak, he continues, “Well, come on. Tell me. It can’t be worse than having killed someone.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, dad,” Stiles says. “Alright, do you remember I was telling you about Greg, my boyfriend?”

“The cop? Yeah, I remember,” his dad says warily.

“Fuck it,” Stiles whispers in determination. “Dad, I’m pregnant.”

His dad sits stock still, and the only indication that Stiles has that his dad heard him is that his face turns ghost white.

“Dad?” Stiles asks after a few seconds of silence.

A couple more seconds pass. “Yeah?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you, kiddo.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles says quietly as he hangs his head, the tears beginning to fall.

That seems to snap his father out of his trance. “Hey, don’t you apologise,” his dad says firmly, “Don’t you dare apologise. You hear me?”

Stiles nods through his tears.

“Listen to me, Stiles, it’ll be fine. Okay? I’ll come down next weekend, and you and me and Greg can all talk about it. We’ll work it out. It’ll be okay.”

“That’s not gonna happen, dad,” Stiles says, “Greg left me when I told him.”

“Fucking bastard,” his dad growls out.

“Yeah, I think I said the same thing,” Stiles says with a chuckle. Then, he asks hopefully, “You’re not disappointed in me?”

“You’re my son, Stiles, I could never be disappointed in you. I mean it.” His dad sighs. “Money’s a bit tight right now, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you with whatever you need. Now, about that ex of yours, what’s his full name?”

“Why?” Stiles asks warily.

“I’m gonna find him and I’m gonna kill him,” his father says deceptively lightly, “I think his headstone should have his full name on it, don’t you? I don’t think ‘Fucking bastard’ would be appropriate for a graveyard.”

Stiles laughs again, and for the first time he thinks maybe, just maybe, everything’s gonna work itself out.

****

That hopeful feeling lasts for approximately seven hours.

In the early hours of the morning, like so many mornings before, Stiles’ curses Greg Parrish’s name when he’s hunched over the toilet retching. Apparently Bump (which Stiles had elected to call the baby, despite there being absolutely no growth in the size of his belly) wasn’t going to give him an easy ride.

When he’s finished throwing up the contents of his stomach, he remains in his position on the floor, because he just doesn’t have the energy to move. 

It’s at times like this that Stiles wishes that Greg had been a werewolf; because he knows that weres are loyal and possessive and would never dare run off and leave a pregnant mate behind. Humans on the other hand...

“Fuck you Greg,” Stiles whispers. “Fuck you and your stupid good looks and gorgeous eyes that made me fall for you.” Stiles places a hand over his still relatively flat belly. “It’s just you and me, Bump. We don’t need your father. We’ll take on the world together.”

And, as had happened every time that Stiles had suffered from morning sickness, one of his roommates would come to his assistance with a glass of water, a soothing hand rubbing on his back, and comforting words to whisper to him. Which is why it doesn’t surprise Stiles that the door opens to reveal Kira with a glass of water in her hands. Seeing him on the floor, she places the glass on the sink and gets down onto the floor beside him.

She holds him close as he breaks down sobbing on the bathroom floor. Like the friend she is, she says nothing further about it afterwards.

****

So, yeah, Stiles’ life had changed irrevocably in the past four months, ever since he found out that his ex-boyfriend knocked him up. His deadbeat, jackass of an ex that fled town as soon as Stiles had told him, not only leaving him with his crippling student debt, but also with increased rent payments, because they’d stupidly moved in as a couple. And on top of all that, Stiles now needs to prepare for said jackass ex-boyfriend’s baby’s arrival. Apparently kids don’t come cheap: who knew?

He’d never been more appreciative of his roommates, all of whom had given him their full support and had unofficially taken it in turns to monitor him whenever they weren’t in class. It makes his life just a little bit easier.

What he wishes would sort itself out, though, is his finances. Stiles is broke. Not ordinary student-loan broke, but broke broke. Even Ramen noodles are a luxury for him these days. On top of that, due to his failure to pay an outstanding balance, his university account has been frozen, meaning that his exam results won’t be released to him. And because he can’t get his results, he’s in limbo with the university: he wants to do a module next semester, but he won’t know if he got the required grades in the pre-requisite class in order to continue.

Which is why he finds himself waiting to be called up to the student desk in the administration building to beg - hell, he’ll cry if he has to, he’s been practicing - to see if the staff can do anything for him. And because this is Stiles Stilinski’s life, the answer is obviously -

“I’m sorry, Mr Stilinski.” The woman behind the desk, to be fair to her, does actually appear sympathetic. “There’s nothing I can do. I won’t be able to override the system to give me access. I appreciate your situation, but you need to pay the minimum three thousand dollars in the next two weeks or else your results won’t be released to you in time for registration for next semester.”

Yep, this is Stiles Stilinski’s life.

****

He flops down onto a seat in the lecture theatre beside Danny and Allison. Or, he does as much of a flop as a five-month pregnant guy can do. With a huff he takes out his notepad and a pen.

“You okay?” Danny asks concerned.

“No, Danny,” Stiles says tiredly, “No, I’m not okay. The administration in this university are so focused on screwing students over for every last cent they have that they’ve forgotten at the very core of education in this country is... well, the students.”

Danny frowns at Stiles’ mini-tirade, and turns to Allison, who explains simply, “Student debt.”

“Ah,” Danny says in understanding.

“Still no luck then?” Allison asks.

“They’re still saying they’ll be unable to override the system to give me my results unless I can come up with the cash within two weeks,” Stiles says with a huff.

Danny looks as if he’s about to say something, but he’s cut off as their lecturer taps on the microphone and calls for them all to settle down.

During the lecture, Stiles notices that Danny is paying little attention, which is pretty unusual for him, even though this is just a revision lecture of what they’ve been covering for the semester. When they’re dismissed just under an hour later, Allison practically runs out of the theatre because she having lunch with Lydia; Stiles, on the other hand, packs up his things slowly, still lost in his debt-laden thoughts.

“C’mon,” Danny says, “Let’s go and get some food.” And before Stiles can say anything, Danny continues, “It’s on me.”

****

“Here,” Danny says as he places a tray with soup and a roll onto the table in front of Stiles, “I always find that life seems brighter after a hot meal.”

“Thank you,” Stiles says, and he’s so grateful for Danny’s kindness that he could burst out crying (for just the third time that day).

Danny takes a seat opposite Stiles, and opens the conversation with, “So, er... just how desperate are you?”

“Are you propositioning me, Danny?” Stiles asks with a smirk.

“No, of course not,” he says with a smile, “But I may be able to help you.”

Stiles breaks eye-contact with Danny and stares into the soup in front of him, as if it holds the answers to all of his problems. “Well, on top of the three thousand I owe the university, the rent has gone up because Greg’s left. I need money for food and clothes, and all of that is before Bump comes along.” He subconsciously rubs his hand over his rounded belly in a comforting gesture. “I’m gonna need baby food, and clothes, and cots, and diapers. Who knew babies cost so much?”

Danny shifts a little where he sits and clears his throat awkwardly.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“What?” Danny quickly asks back.

“You were going to say something.”

“No I wasn’t,” Danny says defensively.

“Yes, you were,” Stiles fires back with a smile.

“Stiles, I _wasn’t_.”

“Danny, I spent three years as a babysitter and now I’m a parent-to-be. Are you really going to play this game with me?”

Danny sighs. “My friend Matt is a photographer,” is all he says. 

Stiles frowns. “Uh... well, congratulations. I’m happy for him, I guess?”

“He’s a photographer with a modelling company,” Danny clarifies. “A _werewolf_ modelling company that specialises in... pregnant models.”

Stiles is thankful he doesn’t have a spoonful of hot soup in his mouth, because he’d probably spit it out, and he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful to Danny for buying him lunch. Because nine times out of ten, a ‘werewolf modelling company’ is code for porn studio. He knows that because he has access to the internet, he’s not naive. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been curious when he was younger and done some creative Googling.

“They’re always looking for models,” Danny continues. “If you’re interested, I could put in a word with him for you?”

Stiles is quiet for a few moments, thinking over what Danny has just said. He’s about to reject Danny’s offer, but his hand goes subconsciously to his protruding belly and rests over it. He’s going to be a father. He has to provide for his baby. He doesn’t have the option to be proud. “And by modelling company, you mean porn studio, right?”

“Eh... no.” Danny says a little too slowly and awkwardly for Stiles’ liking.

“Danny, are you lying to me?”

“No!” Danny says, his higher-pitched voice giving him away. When Stiles shoots him a hard look, he continues, “Well, it’s a little from column A and a little from column B. It does both.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But Matt says the models are treated very well and there’s absolutely no obligation to do the porn if they don’t want to. There’s no pressure and the models have complete control over what they do. Plus they’re paid really well.” Danny says. He takes a napkin from the table and scribbles down a name and number. “Look, this is Matt’s number. Call him, or don’t. It’s up to you. It’s your decision.”

Stiles regards the napkin for a second, before he takes it and puts it into his pocket. It can’t hurt to have the option, right?

****

Stiles thinks it over for probably half-an-hour; his need for money winning out over any remaining pride he has stored away. He taps in and then erases the number from his phone probably three times before actually pressing ‘call’.

“Yo?” The voice on the other end eventually answers.

“Uh... hi. Is this Matt?” Stiles asks.

“Might be,” the voice says warily, “Who’s calling?”

“My name is Stiles. I’m a friend of Danny’s. He gave me your number for -”

“Right, right, Stiles,” Matt says, more relaxed and friendly now, “Yeah, he mentioned you. You’re the pregnant dude who’s been left high and dry by his deadbeat ex, right?”

Stiles clears his throat uncomfortably. “Yeah, you... you could say that.”

“There’s some real losers out there, man,” Matt says sympathetically. “Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to get you a booking. You free to meet up sometime tomorrow for an informal interview?”

“Yeah, I’m around all day,” Stiles says.

“Great,” says Matt, “Let’s meet up for coffee. Or tea for you, I suppose. You know the cafe at the back of the architecture studios?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says.

“It’s a quiet place,” Matt says, “We won’t be disturbed. Meet there at twelve?”

“Okay,” Stiles says, “I’ll see you there.”

****

Matt is... not what Stiles was expecting. He had visions of Matt being this seedy guy with a wheezy voice, greasy hair, and a pornstar moustache. Instead, he’s... well, he’s normal. He’s probably a couple of years older than Stiles, but not old enough that he looks suspiciously out of place in a college cafe. 

As he stands to shake Stiles’ hand, Stiles notices his gaze drift down to his belly. He doesn’t think he squirms, but Matt’s gaze snaps back up to Stiles’ almost instantly.

“Sorry,” he says, “I just needed to see how far along you were.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, “And?”

“And I think you’ll do just fine,” Matt replies with a warm smile. “If you want the job, that is?”

“I thought there was an interview?”

“There was. We’ve just had it,” Matt says. “You’re a good-looking guy, Stiles. And your bump’s big enough to show on camera. My boss is a bit of a grump, but he should be very happy with you, and our readers will definitely go nuts over you. How far along are you anyway?”

“About five months.”

“Wow,” Matt says with a whistle, “You look like you’re further. You sure you’ve not got twins in there?”

“Pretty sure,” Stiles says hesitantly.

Matt chuckles. “So, you want the job or not?”

“I do,” Stiles says. “But, just to be clear: it’s just a photo shoot, right?”

Matt nods. “Absolutely. You don’t even have to get fully naked if you don’t want to. In fact, most of our male models choose to wear boxers. All we ask is that the bump is on display.”

Stiles nods along to what Matt is saying, but still feels awkward about the whole thing: it _is_ a little weird after all.

Almost as if Matt could read Stiles’ mind, he says, “I know it sounds seedy and wrong, but it’s just art. It’s photography, Stiles, there’s nothing dirty about photography. Besides, we wouldn’t be doing what we do if there wasn’t a market for it.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Stiles says.

“Stiles, I’ve lost count of the number of models I’ve photographed,” Matt says earnestly, “I’ve worked with women and men; werewolves and humans alike. And trust me, not one of them ever had to do something they were uncomfortable with.”

“Wait, you’ve worked with other werewolves?”

“Uh-huh, mostly omegas whose mates have died or left them. We like to think of it as doing our bit to help the community. Besides, there’s a market for them, too, y’know.”

And, no, Stiles didn’t know.

“Our target market is the alpha population, and a sizeable percentage of alphas out there have a breeding kink,” Matt continues, “They’re not particularly fussy about whether it’s a human or another were.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. There’s so much more to this whole business than he thought.

“Although, I suppose what you really want to know is what the pay is like,” Matt says.

Stiles makes a strangled noise that’s meant to protest that statement, but Matt laughs it off.

“The standard pay for a photo shoot is two thousand dollars. It’s not too shabby for a couple of hours work.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up, because he certainly wasn’t expecting it to be that much.

“So, you in or what?” Matt asks.

Stiles studies Matt for a second and realises that he really likes him. He feels that he’s a good guy; he’s encouraging but not pushy, reassuring but not patronising. And he really doesn’t have the luxury to turn down such a large amount of money.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “Yeah, I’m in.”

****

As he promised he would, Matt texts him later that day telling him that his boss has given him his approval, along with an address to go to for the photo shoot, and to tell the receptionist to bring him to the loft when he arrives. Stiles frowns at the instruction but doesn’t question it any further.

Now all he has to do is get through the next week without freaking out that he is going to be photographed for the fifth best selling werewolf magazine in the country (Stiles had Googled) and the fact that he will have alphas leering over him and his rounded form. Granted, the circulation would be technically smaller than if it were for a human publication, but his body is still going to be out there for all and sundry to ogle.

 _No pressure, Stiles_ , he thinks to himself.

****

Come eleven o’clock on the day of the shoot, Stiles arrives at the designated address. He has to check and recheck the address because this can’t be right, can it? He’s looking up at a high-rise corporate building. It’s unimposing and really, really doesn’t look like a modelling-slash-porn company. Then again, Stiles doesn’t know what a modelling-slash-porn studio _would_ look like.

With a deep breath, he walks through the revolving door. The inside of the building is even more impressive. It’s bright and airy with a water fountain in the foyer, and to Stiles is looks more like a five-star hotel than an adult entertainment studio.

He approaches the front desk and a bored looking young woman looks up from her computer. “Welcome to Triskele Media Ventures. I’m Cora. How can I help you today?” She says in a dull, monotone voice.

“Uh... yeah, hi. I’m Stiles. I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Matt. He said to meet him in the loft?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him and silently appraises him, eyes landing on his belly. Stiles supposes she knows that ‘loft’ is code for pregnant-human-photo-shoot. He tries not to falter under her intense gaze.

She studies him for a few seconds more before calling over an intern to replace her at the desk. Removing herself from the desk, she then leads Stiles into the elevator and up to the loft.

In the elevator, she presses a button for the fifteenth floor, and then turns to Stiles and says, “You nervous?”

Stiles laughs nervously. “That obvious, huh?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him, clearing wanting an actual answer.

“Yeah. I’m uh... I’m a bit nervous. A lot, actually.”

She regards him again. “Yeah, well... don’t be.”

Stiles waits for a few more seconds in case she says something... well, helpful. When it’s clear that she won’t, he says sarcastically, “Thanks, I’ll try that.”

She snorts at his response but says nothing.

The elevator comes to a stop with a jolt and the doors open on to an unassuming hallway. Cora leads Stiles out of the elevator towards a steel door at the furthest point away from the elevator.

She pulls the door open effortlessly and Stiles follows her in. Inside, Cora turns to him and says, “This is the loft. It’s where we hold our photography shoots, but I suppose I don’t have to tell _you_ that. Look, I’ve got to get back to the front desk, but he’ll be here in a couple of minutes. Feel free to make yourself at home. But don’t touch anything.”

As she leaves, the door to the studio closing shut behind her, Stiles lets out a breath, trying to calm himself down. Now that he’s alone, he wanders around the sparse room, in an attempt to ward off the nerves that threaten to make him run out of the building and turn down the chance to make some serious money. 

He takes in the decor: the room is quite shabby, but in a good way; the walls are brick and the floor is laminated wood. There’s a bed in the corner of the room, a sofa in the other corner, and a barstool over by the window, which Stiles hopes are all props for the shoot and that there hasn’t been a mix-up and they’ve accidentally scheduled him for a porn shoot. Overall, the room looks well-maintained, which Stiles supposes his should be grateful for.

Just when he’s just finished giving the room a once-over, there’s an abrupt thump on the door and a gruff voice calls out, “Cora, can you open the door?”

Stiles hesitates for a second before walking over to the door and opening it.

Before him is a man that makes Stiles’ brain supply _Unf_. His brain also makes his mouth say, “Wow.”

 _Engage, brain!_ Stiles silently chastises himself.

Still, it’s not as if he can be blamed: the man before him is seriously hot. He’s older than Stiles, perhaps early- to mid- thirties but he’s looking well for it. He’s visibly stunning. He’s got gorgeous eyes and a strong jaw, soft bedhead hair, and to top it all off, a neatly-styled beard.

He’s wearing a leather jacket over a soft, grey tank-top, dark blue jeans and leather boots. Stiles’ eyes, however, are trained on the man’s chest, where his pecs are straining obscenely against the thin fabric of the tank-top, and Stiles also thinks he can make out the man’s nipples through the fabric. The top also reveals a light covering of chest hair that Stiles really wouldn’t mind running his hands through.

With his arms full of photography equipment, the man lowers the foot that he used to hit against the door and looks at Stiles, a frown forming on his face. “What?”

“Uh... I said, ‘Hi’,” Stiles says feebly.

The man looks unconvinced, but nevertheless says, “Hi.”

Stiles stands aside as the man comes into the room, carrying various pieces of photography equipment. “Need a hand?” Stiles asks.

Bending down to deposit a case on the ground, the man says, “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” 

And Stiles’ brain helpfully supplies, as he checks out the man’s ass, _Yeah, you are._

“You’re not Cora,” the man continues.

Stiles chuckles nervously, “No, I’m not. I’m Stiles. Cora said she had to go back to the front desk.”

The man tuts and says, “She’s new, but she shouldn’t have left you alone. That’s not the kind of studio I run. I’ll have a word with her.”

“That’s okay,” Stiles says, not wanting to get Cora into trouble, because he figures the guy in front of him could be a mean son-of-a-bitch if he wanted to be. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s _really_ not,” the man insists. Okay, maybe it’s bye-bye Cora.

“Look,” Stiles says more desperately, “I don’t want to get her in trouble.”

To his surprise, though, the man starts to laugh.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, “She’s the boss’s sister.”

“Oh,” Stiles supplies. “That’s… good I guess.” As the man goes back out of the door to pick up some more equipment, Stiles’ brain starts to replay their conversation because he cannot understand the man’s frustration with him being - what? - mistreated by Cora. And then his brain has reached it’s conclusion. “Hang on. You said, ‘That’s not the kind of studio _I_ run.’”

The man chuckles as he deposits the frame for a backing screen on to the floor.

“Oh,” Stiles says again, finally caught up. “Cora’s _your_ sister. That makes you the boss.”

The man turns to Stiles and holds out a hand for Stiles to shake. “Correct. My name’s Derek. Derek Hale.”

****

When Derek has finished bringing all the equipment into the room, he motions for Stiles to relax on the sofa. Stiles does and sinks into the seat. From his position, he’s able to check Derek out without being a total creeper.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this,” Stiles asks, “But why are you doing all the manual labour around here? You’re the boss, shouldn’t you have lackeys or something to do the dirty work?”

Derek chuckles and flashes his bunny teeth at Stiles. _Cute_ , Stiles thinks. “I consider myself a hands-on boss,” Derek says, and Stiles’ eyes land on Derek’s hands. _Derek has nice hands,_ Stiles thinks, _Strong. Masculine_. “Plus, I’m an alpha, it’s easier for me to carry the equipment than a normal human male. And I also don’t have to pay unnecessary wages.”

Stiles chuckles and feels himself relaxing in Derek’s company. Maybe his first impression of Derek being a mean son-of-a-bitch was entirely wrong. What especially surprises Stiles is that for an alpha, Derek certainly seems like a pretty down-to-earth kind of guy.

“Anyway, I better get to fixing the frame up. Matt can be quite the diva if it’s things aren’t ready by the time he arrives. He’s an ‘artist’, apparently,” Derek says and he even does the air quotes.

Derek shucks off his leather jacket and throws it onto the bed as if he owns the place. And, right, yeah, that’s because he does.

 _Derek’s got nice arms, too_ , Stiles thinks, _Strong, muscular. They’d be nice to have wrapped around him on a cold winter’s night. They’d also be nice to hold onto whilst Derek’s fucking into him -_. Wait. What? Stiles shakes his head at the thoughts he’s having of Derek. Of him and Derek. Together. In a relationship. And the two of them raising Stiles’ baby - no, _their_ baby. Together.

He shakes his head to clear the thoughts: what the hell is wrong with him? He’s only known the guy less than five minutes, he knows nothing about him save for the fact that he runs some kind of adult media empire, but he already feels this inexplicable pull towards him. Still, though, he can’t deny that it’d be a great _Fuck you_ to Greg if he and Derek _were_ in a relationship.

Derek goes about fixing the frame for the screen in the corner of the room. Watching him intently, Stiles gets slightly turned on at the fact that Derek is good with his hands. _He’s probably a provider_ , Stiles thinks. And that’s exactly what Stiles wants, a man to look after him and his baby; a man that his kid can be proud to call ‘dad’ rather than the chickenshit that Greg Parrish is. Hell, Stiles would absolutely take a werewolf too - hell, based on past experience, he’d _prefer_ a werewolf - but he knows it won’t be a runner. He knows how territorial werewolves can be and they’d reject Stiles for carrying another man’s baby. _Derek_ would reject Stiles for carrying another man’s baby. And doesn’t that crush Stiles just a little bit?

Stiles finds that as he imagines Derek being a father for his baby, he has placed a hand subconsciously over Bump. _Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him?_ Still, he figures that he can allow himself a couple of minutes of escapist fantasy.

“What’re you doing?” Stiles asks after watching Derek for a while.

Derek turns to face him. “I’m fixing the frame,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And actually, at this moment, it is.

“I _mean_ ,” Stiles clarifies, “Why are you doing it over there? You should put it up in the middle of the room. You should catch some of the natural light from the window.”

Derek studies Stiles for a second, contemplating the advice. “It’s fine here.”

“I took an elective in photography,” Stiles says, “Trust me, you should use the natural light.”

Derek grunts. “It’s fine.”

“Dude, seriously,” Stiles says, “If you want a good shoot, use the light.”

Then something strange happens. Derek _growls_ at him. “I said that it’s fine here.”

Stiles backs down at the noise, and wonders whether that’s exactly what wolves do when their alpha warns them to back off. “Alright, fine,” Stiles says, and because he’s not one to let sleeping dogs lie (heh), he mutters, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Before Derek can respond to the taunt, the door to the loft opens and Matt walks in with his camera strapped over his shoulder. He scans the room and tuts. “Oh, no, boss. Can you move the frame so that it’s in the middle of the room? We should make as much use of the natural light as we can.”

Derek slams the lamp he has in his hand onto the ground probably harder than is necessary. Turning to Stiles, he points a finger at him and he grits out, “Don’t say anything.”

Stiles holds up his hands, “Wasn’t going to, dude... But if I were to say something, I’d say ‘Told you so’.”

Derek just bares his teeth at Stiles (that really shouldn’t turn Stiles on as much as it does) before moving the frame into the exact position that Stiles had indicated earlier. 

Matt turns to Stiles with a silent question of _What the fuck was that?_ , but Stiles just shakes his head.

“Sorry I’m late, Stiles,” Matt says, “My previous shoot ran over.”

Derek snorts from where he’s adjusting the screen, and mutters something that sounds like, “Yeah, right.”

Matt gives Derek’s back a bitchface, but doesn’t dare say anything, before turning back to Stiles. “So, I think we’ve got all the props we need already in here, but if we need anymore I’ll send the boss down to get them.”

Stiles notices that Derek reacts differently to Matt’s taunts, he grunts rather than growls at him. Stiles supposes that he’s just used to Matt’s insubordination. Although the difference between his reactions is definitely something he’s going to ponder.

“So, Stiles,” Matt says, “When Derek’s finished assembling the frame, we’ll leave you alone for a few minutes to get undressed and then I’ll come back in and we can start. And Derek will go back to... doing whatever it is he does all day.”

“Great,” Stiles says, although he has to admit that he’s slightly disappointed that Derek won’t be staying for the duration of the shoot. He can’t even explain why: surely it’d be easier with less of an audience?

Almost as if on cue, Derek tests the sturdiness of the frame and, satisfied, says, “All done.”

Derek walks towards the door, but stops when he reaches Stiles and quietly says, “Don’t be nervous, you’ll be fine. Matt knows what he’s doing, and our readers will love you.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says in a quiet voice, nerves betraying him.

Derek winks at him and, as he turns to leave the room, Stiles can’t help but get one last look at Derek’s ass as he walks away. It’s a _really_ great ass. Unbeknownst to Stiles, however, Matt is watching him intently, and he smirks deviously before he too leaves the room.

When the door closes behind the two men, Stiles whispers to Bump, “Please don’t hate me for this.”

He proceeds to remove his trainers, socks and t-shirt and jacket, so that he’s left just in his boxers. He places a hand over Bump and rubs soothingly over it. Catching his reflection in the window, Stiles also self-consciously covers his developing tits; they’d been a sore point for him - figuratively and literally - but he supposes they’re part-and-parcel of being pregnant.

For lack of anything else to do, Stiles resumes his seat on the sofa and waits for Matt to return. As he’s sitting, his eyes flick over to the bed and he notices that Derek left his jacket behind. Frowning, he contemplates running after him, but decides that in his near-naked state, he’d be best not to. Besides, Derek owns the place, he can get it later.

A minute or so later, Matt knocks on the door and Stiles calls out that he’s ready.

Matt is ever the professional when he reenters the room, not even glancing at Stiles’ belly, for which he is eternally grateful.

“Okay,” Matt says, “I’m thinking we’ll start with you leaning against the wall looking out of the window. Maybe you’re feeling forlorn and you’re waiting for your lover to return home.”

“What?” Stiles asks, perplexed.

“Just go with it,” Matt advises, “It’ll be easier if you imagine the scenarios, it gives you something to focus on.”

The words ‘Stiles’ and ‘focus’ are two things that generally don’t go together, but he does as he’s told and stands leaning against the wall, looking out onto the world. Instinctively, he places a protective arm over Bump, but then stops himself.

“No, don’t stop,” Matt says quietly, “Place your hand over the bump. Do what feels natural.”

Stiles places his arm back over Bump and waits for Matt to take photo after photo. He loses count after the first seven takes.

When the camera stops clicking, Stiles risks a glance over to Matt, who he finds is worrying his bottom lip.

“You’re still nervous, aren’t you?” Matt asks.

Stiles gives him a tight smile. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m trying not to be, but...”

“It’s okay,” Matt says kindly, “Let’s try again.”

As before, Stiles looks forlornly out of the window, and tries his best to be professional. He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job because Matt’s taking a lot more photos this time. That is, of course, until Matt speaks.

“I saw you checking Derek out. He’s a good looking guy, isn’t he?”

Stiles loses his focus and his rigid posture is gone and his stoic expression is replaced by a more relaxed, if somewhat confused, look.

Seeing his opportunity, Matt takes another couple of quick photos. “Sorry, but you have to admit, it loosened you up a bit.”

“Right,” Stiles chuckles nervously. Then he asks, “So you didn’t mean what you said?”

“What, that I saw you checking Derek out? No, I meant it.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Was I that obvious?”

“It was to me,” Matt shrugs. “Don’t worry about it though; I see it all the time, Derek gets a lot of interest.”

 _Of course he does,_ Stiles thinks, not at all bitterly.

However, Matt isn’t finished. “Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes, Derek likes you too. He won’t say as much, but I’ve worked with him for long enough to know his tells.”

Stiles eyes widen - and Matt takes another couple of photos - and finds that for the first time in his life, he can’t speak.

“Actually,” Matt says, and Stiles can almost see the lightbulb over his head, “Would you be more comfortable shooting _with_ Derek? I’ve just had a great idea for a theme.”

Stiles shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you think is best.”

“Great!” Matt says with a smile, and he practically runs out of the loft, presumably to finds Derek.

****

Maybe five minutes pass before Matt reenters the loft, followed closely by Derek.

“Matt, what’s this about?” Derek grits out. “I’m busy.”

Spotting his jacket on the bed, Derek makes a beeline to retrieve it, giving a smile to Stiles.

“Have a little patience, boss,” Matt replies, “I’m about to make you a shit-ton of money.”

Derek stops his stride, turns around and quirks an eyebrow at him. The similarity between Derek and Cora doing that is uncanny.

“How about a Daddy and Baby feature for the magazine?” Matt says to the both of them.

Stiles frowns at Matt, and a quick look over at Derek shows that he’s not the only one who’s confused.

“What do you mean?” Derek asks, his voice low.

To Derek, Matt says, “I’m thinking that we delay the publication of Stiles’ photos for a month and then release them for the one-year anniversary of the magazine. Stiles has got something special about him and I want to take full advantage of that. So, how about as a commemorative treat for the readers, we include _you_ in the photo shoot as Stiles’ babydaddy?”

Stiles sees a minute tick under Derek’s eye, and he can’t decide if it’s from anger or something else.

“Matt, I’m busy,” Derek says evenly, “I have meetings to attend, and I’m sure Stiles doesn’t appreciate having his time wasted over something trivial.”

Before Matt can respond, though, Stiles says, “I don’t. Mind, that is. I think it could be a good idea. If you want to, of course.”

Derek looks at him, actually studying him, and Stiles wonders if he’s listening to his heartbeat to see if he’s lying. Derek frowns, probably thinking it over.

Matt chimes in with, “Boss, it’ll be something unique. We’ve never done anything like it before. Think of the sales.”

And whilst Stiles doesn’t appreciate being used as a way to increase sales, he does, however, actually want to shoot with Derek, so he doesn’t protest.

However, the words seem to resonate with Derek, and he turns to Stiles and asks, “Are you sure you’d be comfortable with it?”

“I’m absolutely sure,” Stiles responds.

Derek sighs. “Fine.”

Matt claps his hands together in glee.

“Where do you want us?” Derek asks Matt in a resigned tone.

Now that Matt has gotten his way, he is in his element, running around the room, fixing lighting angles and getting the props where he wants them.

“Stiles, I want you in the same position as before,” Matt says, and Stiles complies. “Derek, shirt off and I want you to stand behind Stiles, holding him close, with your arm protectively over his bump.”

Derek curses as he takes his tank-top off. “I’ll have to get it shaved off,” he says of his chest hair.

“No, leave it,” Matt says, “It gives you more authority as a father.”

Stiles zones out of the conversation as soon as Derek had removed his shirt, because sweet mother of everything. Stiles thinks his mouth goes slack at the sight and he’s probably drooling, because Derek’s whole upper body is _guh_. The guy clearly works out a lot, and apart from his upper chest that Stiles had checked out earlier, he’s never seen a stomach as muscular as Derek’s; the abs alone are worthy of poetry. And the best thing about it all? There’s a light covering of hair all over Derek’s body. His need to run his hand through it has just gotten greater, and he actually wouldn’t mind falling asleep with his head rested on Derek’s hairy chest: it looks _really_ comfortable.

“Stiles? You good?” Matt asks him concerned, probably noticing how quiet he’s been.

“Yeah, I’m... very good,” Stiles replies, distracted.

Derek makes his way over to Stiles and positions himself standing behind Stiles as Matt had instructed of him, holding him close. He wraps his right arm around Bump, whilst his left arm goes over Stiles’ developing tits as if shielding them from being perved on, and Stiles wonders how Derek could have known he was sensitive about them. Derek also bends his head so that his face is buried in the crook of Stiles’ neck.

It feels good having Derek arms around him. Hell, it feels good just having Derek _near_ him. Stiles feels secure and happy and safe. And for a second he has everything he didn’t know he wanted before today.

He then remembers that he’s in the middle of a photo shoot and he resumes looking forlornly out of the window. But it doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t feel natural to be so sad when his supposed babydaddy is here with him, so he takes a gamble and instead arches his head backwards, exposing his throat for the camera. Stiles doesn’t realise what the move means until after he’s done it. On the one hand, he’s appealing to the primacy of the alpha readers of the magazine, presenting himself as someone to be claimed, and on the other, he’s presenting himself specifically to _Derek_ , signalling that he wants to be claimed by _him_. Either way, if the incessant clicking of Matt’s camera is anything to go by, he’s very happy with their work.

And if the groan that Derek makes against his neck is any indication, he’s more than happy too. Derek's also a little turned on if what’s poking against Stiles’ ass is what he thinks it is.

They pose in various positions; Derek dropping his leather jacket over Stiles’ shoulder to keep him ‘warm’; Derek sitting on the barstool, with Stiles sitting sideways, perched on his thighs, arms locked around Derek’s neck, faces mere inches apart; Stiles standing up, with Derek kneeling in a worshipping position in front of him, with his forehead resting lightly against the bump; as well as using the bed for a shoot where they’re both asleep, with Stiles’ back pressed right against Derek’s chest, and Derek’s arm curled protectively around Bump.

All in all, Stiles finds he’s actually enjoying himself, and is surprised - and somewhat disheartened - when Matt calls a halt to their posing, by telling them that he has more than enough material.

****

After getting dressed at the end of the shoot, Matt makes his way over to Stiles.

“You’re a natural,” he says beaming at him.

Stiles blushes. “Thanks.”

“Listen, there’s absolutely no pressure, but if you did decide you wanted to do something... further, then we’d be happy to have you back. You have my number.”

Before Stiles can get a chance to answer, though, Matt has gone back to packing away his camera, giving Stiles time to think the offer over without any undue pressure.

Derek then approaches Stiles and brings him to his office, where the older man gets his chequebook from one of the desk’s drawers, and begins to fill it in.

“You did well today, Stiles,” Derek tells him. “I’ve never seen a first-timer take to it so effortlessly.”

Stiles can feel himself blushing. “Thanks. It helped that I had someone who knew what they were doing. You made it much easier for me.”

Derek grins at him as he hands him the cheque. “It was my pleasure.”

Stiles glances at the piece of paper in his hands, and yep, there it is. $2,000 with his name as the payee. He almost feels as if he’s robbing Derek because of how little work was actually involved. That, or the cheque’s gonna bounce and he’ll be left humiliated in the bank. But he actually trusts Derek and knows that he wouldn’t do that to him.

As if reading his mind, Derek says, “It’s real. Take it, it’s yours. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says.

“It was great working with you, Stiles,” Derek says. “I’ll be sure to send you a copy of the magazine when it comes out.”

Stiles chuckles nervously. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

Stiles supposes that that’s his cue to leave, but he can’t. Not yet. There’s no denying that the money’s good, and it allows him enough breathing space to hopefully get the university off his back, but it’s not enough. There’s something he needs to ask; something he didn’t want to do; something that he hadn’t even _contemplated_ before meeting Derek. 

Derek has challenged all of Stiles’ expectations: where he was supposed to be grouchy and aloof, he was warm and welcoming. He made Stiles feel safe and wanted, and, hell, _desirable_ for the first time in months.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, confused as to why Stiles is still in his office.

Stiles thinks it over for a couple more seconds, making sure that this is actually what he wants. Deciding it is, he clears his throat and asks, “Uh... Who do I talk to if I want to do a porn video?”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 is a lot more porn-y:
> 
> Derek and Stiles discuss Stiles' kinks; Derek gives Stiles a very special present, and they film a porn scene.


End file.
